Coming Home
by opti-mnff
Summary: Lydia hasn't seen Stiles in years. She's given up hope of seeing him ever again, actually.


**A/N: **Inspired by a drabble I received on my tumblr. I couldn't make it into a 400-700 word drabble... it just sort of exploded into a thing!

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Security. That's what she told herself this meant, and that was all. Whatever hope she had at marrying for love was lost a long time ago. Six years, to be exact. No matter what Lydia did, that same spark was just never there. She could still remember Deaton's words about the emotional tether, and the words sounded silly then but now she believed them. They had two amazing years together before Stiles's dad passed away and he went full hermit for a few weeks, speaking to no one. Not long after that she heard from Scott that he joined the Peace Corps and was working in some country in central Africa. If it hadn't been the most painful breakup she'd experienced, she would have been proud of him for doing something like that. It was so _Stiles _to dedicate his life to others.

But it really, really fucking hurt.

Yes secluded Stiles was bad, but she just assumed he needed time alone. There was a bit of disappointment that she couldn't help him then, but she let it go. Lydia didn't have the nerve to _talk _to him and it ended up with her standing here in front of a crowd of people expecting her to feel like this was the happiest moment of her life. Sure Trent – Jesus Christ she was marrying someone named _Trent _– had tried his best to make her happy, but to him making her happy involved showering her in money when he took long business trips, went to conferences and left her extravagant presents, and 'let' her go shopping no questions asked once a month. She'd become a trophy wife whether she wanted to or not. Her Actuarial Science degree had paid off in just about every way possible, minus the whole getting a job part. That didn't pan out so well, and she had been lulled back into her days of lavish spending and fake material comforts by _Trent_.

The faint ring of the minister's voice across the hall sent shivers down her spine. Lydia never imagined Stiles across from her in this situation despite what she might have said just after he left. She loved him that was for sure, but had never thought to plan that far ahead with him. Lydia never thought about the possibility of not being with him. It just felt natural. But then there wasn't much she couldn't about it, and tried to move on.

Tried to move on to different men, trying to figure them out and do the same with them she did with Stiles. It didn't take many failures to tell she would have to give up on believing in that. So she went back to college and buried herself in work.

Then when it came time for her to kiss _Trent, _she hoped that there would be a crash and the doors would fly open. Stiles would be there, the years of doing whatever work he had making him more obviously fit, and he'd protest the marriage. Then blah, blah, blah…

None of that happened. She quietly finished the ceremony, all of the arrangements afterwards were dull and left her wanting, and the whole time she tried her best to smile for the groom's family and for her own. No one needed to know it was a loveless marriage. At least on her end. She couldn't tell if her now-husband just needed more status, more social leverage, but it didn't make any sense to marry an unemployed actuary for the _fame_.

The first night was quiet. The first week ended without any confrontations and plenty of sex, which still didn't even take her mind off Stiles. Then, the night before they were leaving for their 'official' honeymoon, there was a stranger calling in for Lydia from the front gate buzzer. From the security cameras he was a tall, lanky guy with a visible beard that looked like a neighbor of theirs.

"I think Mr. Parson just lost his cat again, Greg. I'll go talk to him," she said to the security guard. Fuck, she had _security _watching her house. That was one thing she'd never get used to.

When she made her way to the front gate, the moon let strands of white light run across the yard and up to the gate. The slices of light spattered the visitor, who looked like he was becoming impatient. He kept craning his neck in a strangely familiar way and tapping his feet, patting at the sides of his khaki shorts. The dim light was then blasted out by the bright floodlight above the gate which shone outward and revealed the mystery guest.

The beard, the tan, his stress lines and receding hairline was all unfamiliar. But those eyes, _those eyes_, they were still etched into her brain. The fiery look she saw their first time together. It was that same determined look, filled with equal parts excitement and nervousness.

"I guess saying 'hey' might not be the best icebreaker." He smiled slightly, his voice sounding weary and strained. Lydia's heart may as well have fired straight out her chest with how hard it was pounding right now. What was she supposed to say? Do? What the hell was their situation now? She could have sat there thinking about that for hours, but instead she walked slowly to the gate and pulled it open. They stared at each other for a few minutes, his smile slowly fading and Lydia feeling the opportunity slip from her grasp. Walking forward slowly, she glanced up at the camera. She could go back inside, where it was safe: where everything was provided for her on a silver platter.

Or she could kiss Stiles, like she was doing now. The warmth rising in her chest, each heartbeat matching with lazy flicks of tongue against lip and tooth, made it even easier. There had been no thought behind it, only doing. She didn't care if his beard scratched her face uncomfortably or that his calloused hands weren't the same touch she remembered. This felt right. Lydia would deal with the complications of this later, or never at all. She might just run away with Stiles to somewhere overseas. It didn't really matter.


End file.
